1. Sarah


    Date: 10/27/2017, Categories: Lesbian, Author: claire2013, Rating: 10, Source: LushStories

    many ways she became a self-fulfilling prophecy. The more erotica she wrote, the more successful she became. The more successful she became, the more attention she attracted. The more attention she attracted, the more she felt compelled to lock herself away and write more erotica. It was mainly for this reason that Sarah decided move to Europe for a while. She chose Paris for a variety of reasons. For her it held an allure of sensuality and more than a suggestion of sophisticated licentiousness. She spoke no French whatsoever and made the decision not to learn. Paris did not disappoint her, with its barely-hidden sexuality and casual infidelity constantly caressing and feeding her mind and senses. She did not understand it, but what she did not understand she embraced. As she did, she would write for hour after long hour. She was interrupted only by the ever-increasing need she felt to tease her fingers into her panties and relieve the mounting sexual frustration that built in her until the crescendo of desire could no longer go unfulfilled. As she pleasured herself, her mind would slip down new avenues of sexual fantasy and desire, and weave their way into her stories. Her fingers would fill her, fuck her and stimulate her body and mind to new heights of creativity. Eventually she finished what she believed to be her most powerful writing to date. It left her feeling spent, both emotionally and physically. For a time she did not wish to write another word. “Emma, you are ...
    not, I repeat not, to let me write anything for the whole time I am here!” she said, hugging me on her arrival in Rome. I knew she had been writing voraciously. She looked full and voluptuous, as though deliciously swollen with the fruit of her wild, unfettered sexual imaginings. She told me that when she shut herself away to write she always ate a little more and exercised a little less. Her blouse opened a little, exposing the swell of her breasts as they curved down and disappeared within the confines of her white lace bra. She saw my eyes linger. She smiled. I felt the coquettish and irresistible nature of the femme fatale in her rising again for the briefest moment. For the following days I again became a tourist in the city which had become my home. We visited all those places – places resonating with life, death, hope, disappointment, greed, beauty and every other shade of human emotion and experience - that most visitors to Rome consider a ‘must see’. We laughed, drank coffee, hugged, reminisced, drank coffee, shopped, danced, drank coffee; and, of course, ate. ‘Dolce far niente’ as the Romans say. And at night we would take walks; sometimes alongside the River Tiber past Castel Sant’Angelo, to the Spanish Steps or Fontana di Trevi, or in whichever direction our feet took us. We would return to the apartment late in the evening. We would then sit and drink Sangiovese late into the night until our eyelids felt like little strips of lead. I found myself falling in love ...
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